Fearless
by Lys ap Adin
Summary: The more things change, the more they stay the same. College-age Makoto and Haru, smut.


**Title:** Fearless  
**Characters/Pairings:** Haru and Makoto  
**Summary:** The more things change, the more they stay the same.  
**Notes:** Adult for smut; written for Porn Battle XV. Set post-canon, maybe in their college years. 1809 words.

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**Fearless**

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, Makoto reflected upon arriving home to find that Haru was immersed in their bathtub. He cleared his throat; when Haru poked his head up high enough to see over the bathtub's rim, he asked, "Is there something wrong with your membership at the pool?"

"Their heaters are broken."

Makoto had known Haru long enough to extrapolate the rest from that disgruntled reply: not even Haru was water-crazy enough to swim in an unheated pool in January. Not after the hypothermia incident a couple years back, at any rate. "That's too bad." Makoto came away from the bathroom door. "I stopped by the market on the way home, if you want to help with—oh!" Makoto froze with his hand outstretched to help Haru out of the tub, feeling his face go hot. "Haru, where is your _swimsuit_?"

Haru gazed up at him, perfectly calm, and said, "Why would I wear a swimsuit in the bathtub?"

Makoto stared down at him in disbelief, unable to believe that Haru had actually said that with a straight face, and then saw the little creases at the corners of Haru's eyes. "_Haru_," he protested, sheepish.

Haru's smile spread, reaching the corners of his mouth and tugging them up. "It's not anything you haven't seen before," he pointed out as he lifted a dripping hand and closed it on Makoto's. "Didn't you say you _liked_—"

"That's different!" Makoto said, hasty, feeling his face go even hotter. He looked aside in a belated effort to preserve Haru's modesty as he braced himself and helped Haru rise from the tub.

"I don't see why. It's the same in the bathroom as it is in the bedroom." Haru stepped out of the tub, water sheeting off him. "_I_ can't see any difference."

When Makoto snuck a glance at him, he saw that Haru was—was—was _handling_ himself, _scrutinizing_ himself in fact. He covered his face, not minding the wet slap of his palm against his skin. "_Haru_…"

"But it's just the same," Haru said, using the same perfectly reasonable tones he did to insist that mackerel was its own food group and that if the authorities didn't want people to swim in public fountains then they wouldn't put them where just anyone could get into them. "See? It even reacts the same."

Much against his will, Makoto looked, and yes, Haru was certainly starting to fill and lengthen against his own palm. He averted his eyes hastily, lest he have a similar reaction of his own (or, to be strictly honest about it, to keep his own similar reaction from becoming any more pronounced). "It's just _different_, Haru."

"_Why_?" Haru asked; when Makoto chanced a glance at him—keeping his eyes firmly _above_ Haru's collarbones—he was looking back patiently, clearly waiting for Makoto to explain which social norm he was shattering this time.

Of course, that was the problem, wasn't it?

Makoto cleared his throat. "Don't you think it's better to keep that sort of thing private?"

Haru considered this, expression grave, and then tipped his head to the side. "Who do you think is going to interrupt us?"

Makoto couldn't help noticing that the muscles in his shoulders had begun to flex, rather like Haru might be—handling—himself some more.

He swallowed, because… because… how _did_ he explain the years of carefully not paying any undue attention to Haru, anyway? And how was he supposed to be able to _think_ when he could hear the quiet sound of flesh sliding over flesh?

Haru's steady gaze softened just a bit. "You're too responsible sometimes," he remarked as he stepped forward to curve a damp hand around the back of Makoto's neck, pulling him down. "You don't have to be. It's just the two of us."

"But—" Makoto protested, because one of them needed to be responsible and careful and it was deeply unlikely that it would ever be _Haru_.

Haru kissed him, slipping his tongue past Makoto's lips and pressing himself against Makoto's body until Makoto could feel the dampness of Haru's skin soaking through his shirt and his slacks. He could also feel Haru hard against his thigh, and he groaned into Haru's mouth helplessly at the way need closed on him, sharp and aching. "Haru," he said, reaching up and closing his hands on Haru's bare shoulders, protesting.

Haru gave him another patient look. "You don't have to be careful here," he said. Then he reconsidered, pursing his lips. "Or anywhere, but one step at a time."

Of course, Haru always had been the fearless one, Makoto thought, so it was easy for him to say things like that—

Another thing that had not changed about Haru was that he still preferred action to words. While Makoto was still trying to articulate all the reasons why it was a good idea to cultivate habits of circumspection, Haru was kneeling and reaching for Makoto's belt and fly, undoing them while Makoto sputtered and then shoving his slacks and underwear down. "It's all right if you want this," he remarked, right before he leaned forward and closed his mouth around Makoto's cock.

He was abruptly grateful for the fact that he already had his hands on Haru's shoulders; that made it easy to brace himself against the softness of Haru's mouth and the way it felt when Haru swept his tongue over the head of his cock, licking over it as all the blood in Makoto's body seemed to rush south at once. Makoto whimpered, biting down on his lip against the way every muscle in his body seemed to have come unstrung at once, inclining him to sway forward into the slow, soft sweep of Haru's tongue and the achingly sweet pleasure of it.

Haru placed his hands on Makoto's hips and leaned into him, sliding his mouth down around him and watching Makoto from beneath his lashes, so intently that Makoto shuddered and curved a shaking hand around his jaw, cupping it gently. He murmured Haru's name, hoarse, dazed by the conjunction of such a lewd sight with the fact that they were nowhere near the privacy of their bedroom. Haru squeezed his hips and stroked his mouth over him, sucking firmly as he bobbed his head back and forth. Makoto watched him, mesmerized by the sight and the steady drag of pleasure climbing his spine. He said Haru's name again when he felt the way his body was beginning to draw taut, trembling on the edge of too much. "Haru, I'm going to—" Haru slid his mouth down his cock and _hummed_, which was all it took. Makoto pressed his fist against his mouth to muffle the sound he made as he hunched over Haru, pleasure streaking through him and leaving him stunned.

Haru leaned back and blotted his lips on the back of his hand. "We're not in high school anymore, you know," he said once Makoto had stopped shaking.

"I _know_ that," Makoto said, more sharply than he should have.

Haru didn't seem to take offense. "Then why are you still acting like we are?"

"I'm not—" Makoto stopped when Haru lifted his eyebrows just a bit. "—am I?"

"You're acting like the world will end if anyone realizes that you think boys are hot, so yes, you are." Haru smiled faintly then. "Even though we already knew, and now you _know_ that it's not going to end."

Makoto sat down, even though there was water all over the tile, which was cold against his bare skin. He rubbed his hands over his face, squirming internally. "Have I been that bad?"

"Yep." Haru shifted forward and softened the bluntness of his response by resting his hand in Makoto's hair. "But I already know you're a scaredy-cat, even when you don't have to be."

"That's a terrible way to make someone feel better, Haru," Makoto said as he lifted his face from his hands.

Haru looked back at him, expression bland. "You're not someone, you're Makoto." He stroked his fingers through Makoto's hair and then leaned back, gesturing at his lap. "Did you want to help with this, or am I going to have to take care of it myself?"

It shouldn't have made him feel better, but it did—it was probably a sign of how long he'd spent hopelessly in love with Haru (and then not-at-all-hopelessly in love with him). Makoto laughed, and it was only a little shaky. "Let me help?" he asked, feeling almost as shy as he had the first time he'd found the courage to touch Haru in a way that was more than simply friendly.

"Sure." Haru reached for him as he spread his knees apart so Makoto could move closer; he met Makoto's kiss halfway and made a husky sound when Makoto closed a hand around his cock and began to stroke him the rest of the way hard again. Makoto could still taste himself in Haru's mouth, which put a filthy, guilty thrill down his spine. He drew back from their kiss so he could watch Haru—to enjoy the way Haru's eyes went heavy and hot with his pleasure and the lean flex of his body as he rolled his hips up against Makoto's hand—and the way his cock looked, flushed dark against his stomach, gleaming wet at the tip as Makoto slid his hand back and forth, slow and easy, the way Haru liked it best, until Haru finally arched, letting his head fall back as his cock pulsed over Makoto's fingers. It was still a sight to strike Makoto silent with awe and to put a tight ache in his throat with how lucky he was.

"Haru," he said softly as Haru relaxed, looking lazy and satiated.

Haru smiled, tiny and warm, and stirred himself enough to lean forward and wrap his arms around Makoto and kiss him again. They stayed like that for a while, until Haru said, "Did you bring home dinner?"

"I brought home _ingredients_ for dinner," Makoto told him.

"Mackerel?" Haru asked, hopeful.

"No mackerel," Makoto said, smiling. "We had mackerel last night."

Haru turned a blank look on him. "What's your point?"

Makoto laughed, helpless before the warm feeling that curled beneath his breastbone. "I really love you, you know that?"

Haru simply sniffed and picked himself up from the floor. "Of course I do. Is there still mackerel in the freezer?" He held his hand down to Makoto, helping him to his feet.

Makoto laughed again, soft, and wrapped his arms around Haru to kiss him again. "There might be. Let's go see."

"Good." Haru's mouth quirked, crooked. "Me too, you know."

"Yeah," Makoto said softly, tasting the sweetness of that and savoring it. "I know."

**end**

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